Chapter 3
The chilly little breeze on that unusually quiet Friday evening kissed his pale, clean-shaven cheek which smelt of lavender. Tickled by the fur of his collar, he was wrapped up warm, dressed for dinner; his hair washed, parted and held slick with something also from Harris.
Walking past the endless ashlar villas of Redland, Charles felt then as all young men do; that each week decided his life. He had done little work, work which never stayed with him, which he learnt nothing from and he worried it would all fade, that hard work was no longer part of him and that he would wither into a ‘social wastrel’ as he remembered Lord Randolph had put it to his eldest.
Though, as he had once told Peter and so convinced himself, there was a time for everything and those waining winter days, just before the first thaw, in harmony with his own seasons, could be best spent trying to settle her for good.
She had signed his invitation with an ‘x’. He re-read it a couple of times, unsure, vacantly going over the same thought, never quite making it to its last words, tapping the card lightly against his fingers as he walked; feeling the thick woven cream and the delicate blue ink, as soft as her own hand which he always felt with such impression, whenever they kissed hello.
Walking past the endless ashlar villas of Redland, Charles felt then as all young men do; that each week decided his life. He had done little work, work which never stayed with him, which he learnt nothing from and he worried it would all fade, that hard work was no longer part of him and that he would wither into a ‘social wastrel’ as he remembered Lord Randolph had put it to his eldest.
Though, as he had once told Peter and so convinced himself, there was a time for everything and those waining winter days, just before the first thaw, in harmony with his own seasons, could be best spent trying to settle her for good.
She had signed his invitation with an ‘x’. He re-read it a couple of times, unsure, vacantly going over the same thought, never quite making it to its last words, tapping the card lightly against his fingers as he walked; feeling the thick woven cream and the delicate blue ink, as soft as her own hand which he always felt with such impression, whenever they kissed hello.
He had met her on his first club shoot. She had been sitting outside the Student Union, struggling with her boots. A sylphic young woman, her hair long and flaxen, warm in the midday sun, glowing with ruddy health in front of the cool, mid-sixties brute that was the Union.
Curious, they had caught one another. Her wondering if he was a member, as he strode in his own boots, and he, the same of her. He had excused himself with a look, stopping in his stride to strike the uncertainty ‘Shooting?’ Yes, what happy luck as she stood to introduce herself. How brilliant, he thought, what vivacity! Drawn closer, she turned away as he talked and he broke off too as she answered, struck by a mellifluous rush. Her eyes danced across his face, neither prejudiced or guarded but whelmed with curiosity, peering all the more from under her cap. It was life that beamed from her face. A life he had not felt for a while in himself and had rarely seen so fresh in another.
Since, each sentence from her lips had been a further turn in the drama of this blessing, waiting for the sudden dismissive word, revealing thought or loving hint that would twist the plot and his standing. Either bringing him nearer to the heights of a love with which she so clearly brimmed or casting him down, shaded in a tantalising disgrace.
Then, she had offered to bring him round to meet the rest of the club and walking to the car, wasp-waisted in her wax jacket, she seemed to stride with that same spirit. Starting the ignition, the sound of strings had come through and enchanted, they had delighted in it for a moment before she caught herself and rushed to turn it off, flush with embarras.
Curious, they had caught one another. Her wondering if he was a member, as he strode in his own boots, and he, the same of her. He had excused himself with a look, stopping in his stride to strike the uncertainty ‘Shooting?’ Yes, what happy luck as she stood to introduce herself. How brilliant, he thought, what vivacity! Drawn closer, she turned away as he talked and he broke off too as she answered, struck by a mellifluous rush. Her eyes danced across his face, neither prejudiced or guarded but whelmed with curiosity, peering all the more from under her cap. It was life that beamed from her face. A life he had not felt for a while in himself and had rarely seen so fresh in another.
Since, each sentence from her lips had been a further turn in the drama of this blessing, waiting for the sudden dismissive word, revealing thought or loving hint that would twist the plot and his standing. Either bringing him nearer to the heights of a love with which she so clearly brimmed or casting him down, shaded in a tantalising disgrace.
Then, she had offered to bring him round to meet the rest of the club and walking to the car, wasp-waisted in her wax jacket, she seemed to stride with that same spirit. Starting the ignition, the sound of strings had come through and enchanted, they had delighted in it for a moment before she caught herself and rushed to turn it off, flush with embarras.
Chapter 4
She smiled from the window, disappeared and the door opened. Through the threshold, she held him in a glance and in a quick step Charles went up to meet her, impressing both her soft cheeks with his daydream of springtime love. ‘Hello’ yes he was the last one, no, not late, well, only fashionably late; anyway they were just having drinks and dinner was not quite ready. Taking off his overcoat and gloves, his mind flickered with lust, quickly put out as they went through.
It was too early in the second term to broach Easter, so talk was of Christmas skiing. Thank goodness Charles had been given the privilege of St Crétin-des-Alpes growing up. When asked, St Crétin checked the dull one-upmanship that was sure to follow, with the stupid delight a young man takes in having snubbed a snob; then he would smirk at the inanity of it, having caught himself thinking that they were not hand-language-only people.
Ana Georgievna Londonishvili was as Anglo-English as they come after an upbringing at one of the lesser West London schools for girls. Her parent’s investment had been a great success for she had come out as such an education intends, socially smart and utterly frivolous.
The other young lady, Fitzvillin, did not have the minxish charm of her friend; one of those rural young women who, at home, went about beside her mother rather than replacing her. She drawled like her mother, wrapped herself in an evening shawl as her mother did, one could even see her perch on floral armchairs as her mother might taking tea.
She smiled from the window, disappeared and the door opened. Through the threshold, she held him in a glance and in a quick step Charles went up to meet her, impressing both her soft cheeks with his daydream of springtime love. ‘Hello’ yes he was the last one, no, not late, well, only fashionably late; anyway they were just having drinks and dinner was not quite ready. Taking off his overcoat and gloves, his mind flickered with lust, quickly put out as they went through.
It was too early in the second term to broach Easter, so talk was of Christmas skiing. Thank goodness Charles had been given the privilege of St Crétin-des-Alpes growing up. When asked, St Crétin checked the dull one-upmanship that was sure to follow, with the stupid delight a young man takes in having snubbed a snob; then he would smirk at the inanity of it, having caught himself thinking that they were not hand-language-only people.
Ana Georgievna Londonishvili was as Anglo-English as they come after an upbringing at one of the lesser West London schools for girls. Her parent’s investment had been a great success for she had come out as such an education intends, socially smart and utterly frivolous.
The other young lady, Fitzvillin, did not have the minxish charm of her friend; one of those rural young women who, at home, went about beside her mother rather than replacing her. She drawled like her mother, wrapped herself in an evening shawl as her mother did, one could even see her perch on floral armchairs as her mother might taking tea.
She would exclaim how tiresome she found ‘Society’ the club and their gossip; before gossiping about those very people. In her prim life, everything was simple and right; she saw her virtues to be tact, sensibility, prudence and self-effacement; compelled to example them in conversation. That her research project was reading The Tatler & Bystander from the 1980s, to study cultural capital, was telling enough.
Oh, the woes of growing up an only child with her mother in Hertfordshire, her father away; the Navy, she made known in a half-whispered throwaway.
Both asked the kind of dull questions Charles dreaded, going on about their season fashionably not skiing at Ennui-sur-la-Roche or St Ivrogne-le-Moine. Thankfully George made up the sixth and with Peter fielded too, Charles could tactfully spend the evening favouring Ophelia, who looked as charming in evening silk, washed and prettied, as she had muddy and unkempt.
She served a game pie with breast brought from a weekend bag and the boys had brought plenty of wine. She had also written secret games on their cards, things they had to do or say and guess. So despite earlier moaning, dinner was delightful.
Only a couple terms ago now, that darling moment still ran so vividly and heartened him. The matter had been decided then, without much thought, no less so since hearing she had someone elsewhere. Elsewhere, when he was still just chancing it, did not bother him and with restrain and uncertainty, a bashful smile here, a drink there, softly, slowly, she had come to feel at ease with him, his wanting her.
Already he could see himself spending the last of those cold mornings kept late by tender kisses. What a way to spend this last term, his last term, he thought, to have someone to stroll with, confide in and call upon in the empty moments of those empty days, when another evening’s drinking was all that waited. To share in her happy life, to dote on her and see her smile.